


Martha Reeks

by NoWindForThisHole



Category: Martha Speaks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 20:36:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4363352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoWindForThisHole/pseuds/NoWindForThisHole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Speak no evil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Martha Reeks

Martha could not get up. Her jugular teats were just too much. Martha howled in agony, "Helen…" Martha spoke.

Helen stumbled over to the living sac of fat on the dirty floor. "Martha, what did you do this time?!" Helen growled.

"Helen I have been so sad," Martha engraved into the floor, "I need help help with me sadness." Martha…

"Helen, I don't know what to do" Helen said.

"Helen, I know what to do," Martha argued.

"I know what to do," Helen agreed. "Martha, have you ever smoked crack?"

Helen finished her soup and called it quits. "I think I may have a brother that can hit you up!"

"What's a… 'crack'? Is that some kind of foodstuffs?" Martha inquired.

Hell said "Maybe, Martha, just maybe."

"I am hungry for some thing" Martha snarled.

"If you have 55 bucks, I can hit you up," Helen suggested. "We must hit up the tomato child. Do you have directions to his residence?"

Martha did not understand.

"Where the fuck he at?"

Martha did understand. Martha raised her magnetized tail, tuned it to the tomatoshirt, and waited. "Calculating." Martha's once irritating voice had morphed into a horrifying robotic screech. Helen was too stoned.

She hopped on the tricycle. Her mestizo parent reminded Helen, "I regret having you, Hellspawn!"

Helen didn't feel anything. "I don't consider you a mother, I hope you disown me." She was stoned again. Martha was a dog and leashed herself to the trike by the throat.

Helen put the pedal to the metal, rushing through the streets of Martha Speaks.

Helen had to stop for gas, but Martha rode on. As she crashed into the vodka section, bottles careened off the shelves and onto the floor. Martha's foot bled. "Martha wants a refund," she said.

The cashier looked down at the mutt, memories flooding back like a torrent of waves. He remembered four letters: "M", "E", "H", "T", but they weren't spelled that way. It took him a while to put it all together, but it finally came to him; that dog reminded him of the illicit cartels of times gone by.

Martha shoplifted a twix bar and walked out to the tricycle, unaware of the cashier's understandable phone conversation with the Speaks County Sheriff. He knew what they were up to, and he wasn't havin' it.

Helen finished dousing the tricycle in gasoline. The bill was $47. The duo sped away, following Martha's anal radar.

The arrived at their destination of interest. Loud music blared from the 3rd floor. "Is this where the tomato man lives?" Martha asked.

"Shut your whore mouth, Martha," Helen said as she slumped off the trike on a weed rush. She slung the huge bag of money over her shoulder. "We're going in."

Helen carved a hole in the wall and hoisted Martha upandthrough. "Honey, I'm home!" she cackled like a witch. She drummed up the stairs with conviction; little did she know, she was about to be a convicted criminal.

Tomato opened the door. Coke hung from his nose hair. "You didn't call," he said through gritted teeth.

"Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle, I want to buy some fuckin' meth," Helen said the password.

"I thought we were buying crack," Martha replied.

"Who knows," Helen answered.

Tomatoman jumped backwards into the fume-filled room and fell on the floor. Then he got up, and walked. "Let's see what I got under the ol' drug rug."

He lifted up the carpeting. "Moss, ham, Pam, ah, here we aren't," he said blankly.

Martha tooted.

"I'm just kidding," the boy reassured.

Martha sucked it back in.

Helen forked over the cash, and Tomato spooned over the hash. "Chip chip choo, you're a few dollas short."

Just then, the police politely knocked before entering. They didn't want to catch him at a bad mood.

Martha immediately began humping one of the officer's shins. "What are you?"

"Get your damn pooch off of my gucci jeans!" the cop spewed.

"She sure knows her designer clothes!" Helen giggled before being shown the full effects of police brutality.

"You're going to the slammer," said the Martha cop. Martha pulled out, leaving behind a sticky trail of secretion. "You shouldn't have."

Luckily for them, the court was free to use after a cancellation. Rather than the jailhouse, the car shipped them straight to the trial.

The judge eagerly awaited her next victim. She was on a roll today, death sentence after death sentence.

The officers tied Martha to the chair. Judge Susan Meddaugh leaned over the desk. "Martha Speaks, you have been convicted of possession of various drugs upon drugs. How do you plead?"

And for the first time in her life, Martha was speechless.


End file.
